


time froze when you left (so come back and start the clock again)

by stepping_stein (oso_peanutbutter)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bittersweet, M/M, OOC Is Serious Business, Post Game, i forgot to add that tag the first time whoops, post game spoilers, suppose to be romantic but its too platonic, this was a mistake, you have to squint real hard for the romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oso_peanutbutter/pseuds/stepping_stein
Summary: Centuries pass since that day, and Mikleo would like to say that he had kept track of single year, day, hour and minute of that time, but he would be lying if he did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> what was suppose to be a short, bittersweet fic about mikleo and time grew into this monsterish thing I hate my muse sometimes

After Sorey fell asleep, Mikleo traveled alone back to Elysia. He entered the home Sorey lived in during his years before leaving for Ladylake. The house was exactly how it was when he left is what he would like to say, but can’t. The house is in a mess; books toppled over, pots smashed, blankets thrown near the extinguished fire place, a priceless artifact stolen from its highest place on the shelf. Mikleo clenches his fist in anger. How dare those Hyland soldiers treat Sorey’s home like this? A dark thought passes, but he shakes his head. Revenge wouldn’t solve anything, and Sorey wouldn’t have wanted that. Mikleo only sighs and starts picking up the broken pieces of Sorey’s favorite vase. He might as well clean up, silently hoping that by the time he was done, Sorey would walk through the door as if nothing had happened at all.

Centuries pass since that day, and Mikleo would like to say that he had kept track of single year, day, hour and minute of that time, but he would be lying if he did. Time stopped the day Sorey went into his slumber, and it hasn’t moved since. Mikleo gets up from Sorey’s old desk and walks over to the bookshelf. He pulls out his tattered copy of the _Celestial Record_ , battered over centuries of use. The writing is already faded, but Mikleo knows exactly what was written on each page. He’s had centuries to memorize the whole thing. He brings it over to the desk, and opens it to where he left off the last time. The faded drawing of a ruin stares back at him, but Mikleo picks up his pen and replicates it onto his own paper. The words underneath the drawing flows straight from his pen as if he was the original author and not copying from memory. Preserving the _Celestial Record_ was Mikleo’s own personal project. Even with the rise of modern technology and mass printing of hundreds upon hundreds of editions, Mikleo couldn’t help but preserve the book in the only way he knew how: by hand. Just as his uncle before him wrote it down, he feels like he’s carrying on a tradition of sorts, by preserving the world’s treasures one by one through pen and paper.

Hours pass by in silence and the sound of a pen scratching on paper. Mikleo puts his pen down and stretches. He gets up from his chair and walks around the house, still messy from the military raid all those years ago. He told himself when he was young and still naive, that if he cleaned up the house, Sorey would come back, but then doubt started seeping into his conscious. _What if cleaning his house ended up not bringing him back?_ _What if convincing myself that if I did this simple task so Sorey could walk through that door was all in vain? What if I never see him again? What if—_

In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the rest. The house remained as it was centuries ago, frozen in time along with him. Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten how to move forward. He tried tracing his footsteps, traveling the same path him and Sorey and the rest of their party did before the final battle, but even with all that walking, Mikleo never found his answer. So instead he settled down and waited. He resided himself in Sorey’s home, copying the _Celestial Record_ in his own hand and reading as much books about the world as he could. Occasionally he went out and visited old friends, to catch up and collect interesting stories to tell Sorey when he woke up. Sometimes he’d reminiscence about the old days and write them down so he would never forget them. He plans on calling it the _Celestial Record: Volume 2_. He’ll think up a better title later.

After walking around the house a few times, Mikleo heads back to the desk chair, hoping to get more work done. Half of the twentieth page is finished when he hears the door creak open. He puts his pen down; he wasn’t expecting any visitors and doesn’t appreciate being interrupted. He gets up from the chair and turns to address the intruder.

“Who is—”

He stops in his tracks, and his breath gets caught in his throat. He swallows it down and slowly walks to the entrance. Sorey stands there, unsure if he should enter, even if it is his house.

“Mikleo, do you know what year it is?”

Tears make their way into Mikleo’s eyes but he keeps them down.

“I...I don’t know.” He winces at his voice cracking, but Sorey laughs it off. He either thinks its funny or hadn’t noticed.

“Really? It’s seemed like something you’d do.”

“Something I’d do? Like what?”

“Like keep track of the time.” Sorey scratches his cheek; it’s an old habit he picked up when he’s embarrassed about something.

Mikleo shakes his head. “I couldn’t bring myself to.” _Time stopped when you left_ was left unsaid but Mikleo couldn’t bring himself to say it. He doesn’t want Sorey to feel guilty for choosing the path he did, even if it meant staying frozen in time along with him. Mikleo takes a good look at Sorey, overall he looks relatively the same as he did centuries ago: the messy brown hair of his sticking up in weird places, his green eyes filled with the same passion and zest as they did centuries ago, the Shepherd’s garment still fitting him like a second skin, the feather earrings fluttering when a breeze passes by, and the ceremonial sword that he kept by his side all those years. The only thing different about him now is his presence. He no longer gives off one of that of a human, but as a seraph. Mikleo has a hard time distinguishing his element, but it puts a small, bittersweet smile on his face.

“I’m sure Gramps would’ve had a blast teaching you lightening artes.” The memory of their Gramps is of a bittersweet one but talking about him like this makes the pain easier on the both of them. The comment catches Sorey off guard but he chuckles and says, “Yeah, I’m sure he would’ve.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve mastered a couple of healing artes, otherwise you would’ve been toast.”

“Hey!”

They both burst into laughter over the thought of it all. Mikleo wipes his eyes with his gloved hand, searching his memory for the last time he’d laughed and smiled like this. No recent memory comes to mind so he puts this moment into a corner of his mind, hoping he’ll be able to replay this exact moment whenever he can in the future. They both come down from their high, and Sorey takes a deep breath.

“You grew out your hair.”

It’s Mikleo’s turn to be taken off guard. His hand subconsciously goes up to his messy ponytail. He hasn’t brushed it in decades, the puffiness mostly from the various tangles and haphazard care. A small blush dusts his cheeks.

“Yeah.”

Sorey walks up closer to Mikleo. He runs a hand through it, gaining a wince out of him.

“I like it. It suits you.”

The light dust evolves into a solid red, and Mikleo has to look away to regain his composure. Sorey chuckles a little before realizing something.

“You’ve gotten taller too.”

Mikleo faces Sorey again and sees that he’s right. He has to look down at Sorey in order to make eye contact. A sense of accomplishment flourishes within him.

“Looks like I’ve finally beaten you in the height department.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair?”

“You had centuries to grown, while I—”

“Also had centuries?”

“I was asleep the whole time!”

“Uh huh. And I’m sure if Maotelus was aware that teenage boys stop growing at twenty-one, he wouldn’t have deprived you of that joy.”

“Grrrr.” Sorey’s pout is always something that Mikleo had found adorable, even if Sorey is a little too old for it. Mikleo pats Sorey’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll still continue to grow even after sleeping for so long.”

“Mikleo, I surpassed twenty-one ages ago. I’m sure I won’t.”

“So did I, but I still kept on growing.”

“How long ago was that again?”

Mikelo stops in his tracks. “...Good question. We’re probably going to have to ask someone.”

“That’s a great idea!” Sorey taps his fist on his palm. “I know, how about we ask Ro—ah, nevermind. I’m guessing by the look on your face it’s been longer than that, huh?”

Sorey ponders for a minutes and looks up with a bright smile on his face. “Oh, Lailah! I’m sure she’ll know.”

Mikleo’s face lights up as well. “Yeah, I’m sure she will. Question is, where will we find her?”

“Huh? You mean you haven’t kept in touch with everyone?”

“We-well, not exactly, we’ve met up several times over the course of I don’t know how many centuries, but..hmmm...the last time I saw Lailah we were in Marlind; however…”

“You don’t remember how long ago that was, huh.”

Mikleo nods. Sorey puts his hands on his hips with a big grin on his face. “In that case, we just have to look for her.”

“Look for her?”

“Yeah, we can start with Ladylake. It can be like old times. What do you say?” Sorey extends his hand out to Mikleo. Mikleo contemplates it over in his head. Years of not traveling rush into his mind, and he realizes just how much he misses traveling the world, whether it be with friends or just Sorey. A small smiles breaks out onto Mikleo’s face.

“I’d love to.” He places his hand onto Sorey’s.

Sorey’s grin somehow manages to get even bigger than before. Any bigger and his face might split. He walks out the door, hand in hand with Mikleo, set for Ladylake, just like that day all those years ago.

“Let’s go, Mikleo.”

**Author's Note:**

> they were suppose to hug but muse was like ‘nah son gotta leave room for jesus’.


End file.
